i could swear that this isn’t my pen-you
know-the one that belongs to me that’s because
this one writes black and mine writes blue

the t v commercial just indicated the coming
of the golden goddess how unoriginal

the moon is
the night’s sunlight

only
the moon isn’t hot it’s hot and cold

tonight i was wrapped around your
silent company
and
i didn’t want to detach myself
holy christ we’re all travelling through
time and time is travelling
and
everything’s trying to go faster
than everything else and everyone’s trying
to be better
than everyone else and it can only
end
in an endless marathon
but tonight i was wrapped around your
silent company

the voices of dick cavette and elke sommers
paint my ears but they don’t reach
my mind though

people are so many horses grazing
in a poisoned pasture
which completes itself
at the end of the road or around the bend or
something like that
only
if we escape
everyone will follow us and bother us
and
poison our pasture

what color is your love
mine is kaleidoscopic but don’t brag
about it
because
somebody might find out and they’ll
rip me off
colors don’t come easy you know

i don’t care what words sprinkle from the
mouths of
scientists
or
clergymen
god and i are riding a
surfboard
and the crest of the wave is a foamy

mixture
of rodent lovers
and
glaciers of melted picture frames
come on
they’ll never catch you

peter was the drummer
gary was the pianist
bill was the guitarist
and
i was the life
len thomas was the death he choked it
with
the thin string of a
stop sign

stephen stills and i walked
through a concrete atmosphere of
lettered
abbreviations
and
fire blazing
from an unseen section of life
suddenly we stopped to eat
but
found that
consumption
didn’t necessarily denote
&nbsp
stopping
so we took care of business ate and
stopped
to
rest
but we couldn’t sleep so
we
wrote a song died and expected to
wake up
before the sun removed its
sweat suit
right after
it did
we woke up again
but we didn’t like it
so we wrote on a
bathroom wall
and went our
separate ways

if door knobs were
as dead as
the batteries in your luxurious cassette player
then they
wouldn’t
even
turn no music tonight

when i get married
i’m going to marry
my own wife
do you want to be
my own wife
if you don’t
go and pitch
for the cleveland indians
at least
mow their lawn
they need their lawn mowed

is
is graham nash
any relation to
alexander bell
as a matter of fact
he
invited me to use
his telephone

moses was
jimi hendrix
to all that
he knew
after
he experienced
his electric burning bush
he died from
an o d of
old age
his family destroyed itself
with the argument over
moses insurance money
little did they know
that
moses was the original bookie
to
take bets
on a &nbsp
slab of stone

if i get another band together
i think
i would have
billy the kid on drums
robin hood on bass
stan laurel on guitar
joseph the carpenter on keyboard
me on top
and
you on the bottom
trouble is
we’d never get
any
jobs

right on dolores
sleep for the rest of
your life look at me
through those
dilated cobras
in
your mind
and if the revolution
gets too
&nbsp hot cool
yourself on a bed of
hot coals

did you see the trench coat jesus wore
it was made of
&nbsp
dark green
cavalry men
who turn red when
they
get
wet
if lightening strikes
jesus dies
if jesus lives
pigs die
if pigs sleep corporations paint
why did jesus
run for a second term
he never would
have died
in office

jesus
go to
the farm
his mother
used to say
and don’t forget to bring the
wine
to the
wedding

and then
jesus transplants
an arrested heart from the
foot
of a sleeping stone to the
&nbsp
eyelash
of a dead man and
says something about
bacon and eggs and puts
his donkey-hair
eye-glasses on and
reads
the
newspaper
of course it causes
his thoughts to crumble
like a strange
wall made of
rubber band-aids
trying to escape
jesus hires
walter cronkite to hold
his erected penis in
his safe until
he returns

sleek and silly
it gives me a pain to lean against
your bed’s bars

let’s hold on to our fantasy
anyway
ring it out
but
hold it tight

if john f kennedy was really
president of a country
why did he borrow money from me
to buy a
tuna-fish sandwich

when was the last time that
your rapport with a
microphone became so intense
that it made
&nbsp
you cry about the past

and
look into chronicles of
historic
tragedy
i speak with a
guitar
on
occasion
to relieve the intentional directional signal
playing with the boy
next door

the skies of
new mexico are so clear
that
you can see the sneezes
people put into the air
together
you and i will rush to new mexico and
defeat its purpose with
a battle field and a football
only to discover that
love
eventually explodes and crushes
every
non-living
non-return
sea weed that
crawls
into
shelter
if it doesn’t break
it at least
sprains until it can’t bend
anymore

or we can stay here
and
strangle the fog or
eat the bones of the dead achilles tendon

driving down the road
i thought about a future of your companionship
embraced by logs and
kissed by the songs of birds
we laid together under a
rainstorm and sang power to the people

after orgasm we slept until the next century
where we found that
a slice of earth
had been eaten by a
weir wolf
until
adolf hitler put a stop to it
and the knife hurt as
he separately sliced our genitals
and harmed
our egos

i’ll
sleep alone in my wakefulness
i’ll
talk to you in
your absence
i’ll
make love to you with
my impotence
i’ll
do all this just to make
you happy

COPYRIGHT 2005 by Michael Bonanno
LOC Reg. #TXu 934-647

Reproduction of “23 august 1971 years later
at 735 a m my time” or any part therein
without the express written permission of
Michael Bonanno is prohibited unless the
reproduction meets The Copyright Act “fair
use” doctrine, (title 17, U. S. Code)..